The stout war-horse beneath him snorted, as if in dispute, and the duke steered it deftly between two phandar trees before adding, “Can you see her at the head of an army, staring fiercely at the foe as she draws her abacus and account book for the fray? Not your typical Obarskyr, that one.”

“Aye, all the family traits bred into young Alusair,” Thomdor agreed, scanning the nearby trees with the alert vigilance of a veteran warrior. “Hell on horseback, all ego and fury, with talent to match. Every time she comes home, bets are heavy among the kitchen staff as to how long it’ll be before she and her father get into a row about politics that breaks half the goblets and platters!” He leaned low over his mount’s neck to pass under another phandar bough and added, “She’s all swords and armor right now, and would rather be on the battlefield than on the throne.”

“Aye, it boils down to that,” Bhereu agreed. “Neither wants to rule, or truly has the aptitude for it. So perhaps a child of Alusair, or more likely of Tanalasta, will be the next king… and that’s what makes these hunting parties so bleeding important. You think Azoun would pull you from Arabel and me from the High Horn just for a social gathering? You’ll notice he asks us and not Vangerdahast, every time.”

The baron stuck his forehead in mock woe. “I am crushed under the weight of the responsibility. It smites our shoulders like a falling castle turret!” The heavier of the cousins chuckled, then added in more normal tones, “No doubt the good mage delivered a five-volume report on Aunadar and the entire Bleth clan-every last high-nosed noble and illegitimate woodchopper among them, back to the dawn days of the kingdom.”

The leather saddle creaked as he reined in his prancing mount and added more quietly, “I say let Tanny choose her own prince consort and be done with it. She was smart enough to see right through that proud flower of the Illance line… er, Martin?”